


Of Condolences and Chicken Salad

by GoldenWaffles



Series: Trophyverse [3]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, But like the in-universe Alternate Universe, F/F, Nicole Haught Gets a Sandwich, Nicole Haught Needs A Hug, One Shot, close enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 18:27:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19481539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenWaffles/pseuds/GoldenWaffles
Summary: In a world without Wynonna...After the death of Sheriff Nedley, Waverly notices that a certain Officer Haught has stopped coming to Shorty's for her daily lunch. Feeling oddly compelled to reach out, she decides to make a trip to the police station to offer her a word of comfort... and a chicken salad sandwich. And thus a tradition is born.Takes place in the theoretical universe created by the hockey trophy in "Gone As a Girl Can Get," when Wynonna was haphazardly erased from the timeline.





	Of Condolences and Chicken Salad

**Author's Note:**

> And we're back! Another entry into the Trophyverse saga. I had this on the back-burner and felt like I needed to do something to celebrate getting our show back. Chronologically, this takes place before "Best Worst Day Ever" and long before "In Another Life."
> 
> This one kind of came from wondering if Shorty's really delivered food around Purgatory ("They're a bar!" "Do they really have the time/staff for that?" "We don't ever see anyone else get food delivered!") or if it was some special deal they had with Nicole only. So this is my attempt to answer that question that literally nobody but me ever asked. And because I'm an angst-lord who assumes Nicole must be super lonely in this version of reality, this is how it all shook out. It's by far my most frivolous fic, but hopefully you'll get some modicum of enjoyment out of it.
> 
> Also, y'all will never know how close I was to making the entire summary for this just the words "Nicole gets a sandwich."

There weren’t a lot of constants in Purgatory, and most of the ones they did have they’d rather do without. Winters would always be bitterly cold. The ground would always be too dry to grow much. The hockey team would always lose. The “First Families” would always run the town. Pets would always go missing. People would always die unexpectedly.  
  
But for the citizens of Purgatory, it was home. And you didn’t just pick up and leave your home.  
  
At least, that was how Waverly Gibson felt on the matter, for all the good it did her. Her belief in the goodness of her hometown was unshakable. It was also, to her dismay, somewhat unique. Because people left. And left. And left. No matter what she did. No matter what she said. _People always just left._ And by her measure, that was almost worse than the ones who died. Death was an inescapable tragedy, but leaving— you had to _want_ to leave.  
  
It left her with a deep affection for anyone who was determined to stay. She loved them all, those long-time residents who wouldn’t let anything drive them off. Which just made it all the more tragic that they had just lost one of the best: Randy Nedley, the man who had been sheriff of Purgatory ever since the death of Ward Earp himself. Sheriff Nedley had survived decades in the dangerous town, only to be brought down, swiftly and suddenly, in the most violent way possible. In one explosion, the town had lost its sheriff, her friend Chrissy had lost her father, and Waverly herself had lost a cherished neighbor.  
  
And she was pretty sure they weren’t the only ones suffering.  
  
Before the sheriff’s death, one of the few happy constants of Purgatory had been the daily appearance of his lone deputy at Shorty’s for lunch, always at noon, right on the dot. They could have set the clocks by her. In fact, once, on a whim after a power outage, Waverly _did_ set a clock by her. She had checked it against her phone later, and it had been dead on.  
  
The deputy was always polite, always friendly, nearly always smiling, and always up for a conversation. And she tipped _exorbitantly_. She had a particular fondness for chicken salad, and she never turned down an offer of coffee (although, unlike her boss, she was adamantly opposed to drinking alcohol while on duty).  
  
And ever since the sheriff’s death, she hadn’t shown her face in Shorty’s even once.  
  
Waverly understood, of course. She was probably really busy. And upset. As new as Haught was to town, she knew that she and Nedley had been close, and his death must have been a terrible blow. It made her flash back to the untimely death of Shorty, her own boss and friend, and the loss she felt in the days after. She remembered crying at the wake, and the then-brand-new Deputy Haught making a special effort to talk with her. She even remembered an outreached hand, interrupted by the arrival of Perry before contact could be made. But the intent had been there.  
  
The memory woke a fierce determination in her to return the favor. She knew that Haught didn’t have any close friends in town. She worked long hours, and the town could be annoyingly clique-y and isolating to newcomers. In her heart, Waverly knew they would come around eventually, especially since the officer seemed determined to become a lifelong Purgatorian. But that wouldn’t help her today. Today, she could probably use a friend.  
  
And Waverly did consider them friends, albeit only in the very loose, friendly-acquaintance sense of the word. They talked nearly every day, exchanged pleasantries on the street, and so on. Waverly even had her phone number on a business card somewhere, stowed away in case of emergencies. But they had never gone out of their way to see each other before. Not like this.  
  
But in these circumstances, surely it was reasonable. Surely the desire to offer her condolences would be enough of a justification for a visit. She didn’t _really_ need a pretense.  
  
But just in case, she wrapped up a sandwich.  
  
The police station was practically next door to the bar. Purgatory’s downtown wasn’t exactly sprawling. Waverly walked by it all the time without even thinking about it. But she never had a reason to go in. Until now.  
  
She pushed through the doors and entered, and somehow it looked exactly how she had expected it to look, from the tall front desk to the shorter individual workstations behind it. And there didn’t appear to be a soul in sight. As she circled around behind the desk, she saw that the light was on in a small offset room labeled “Sheriff.”  
  
Waverly approached cautiously and peered in through the slatted blinds. A flash of red atop a smear of navy confirmed that she had found the right room.  
  
Feeling uncommonly shy, she lurked momentarily in the doorway before entering. Officer Haught was standing in the middle of the room, arms limp at her sides, staring into the middle distance. Waverly recognized the expression; it was the exact same one Chrissy had been wearing for days. Waverly’s heart ached for them both. She cleared her throat and lightly tapped her knuckles against the door frame, hoping not to startle her.  
  
Haught looked up, blinking as though emerging from a trance. Her eyes stared at Waverly for a moment, processing her sudden appearance, and then she finally swiveled towards her, straightening her stance and gripping her belt in both hands.  
  
“Waverly Gibson. Hey. Hi. Is anything wrong? What can I do for you?” She seemed to stumble over the automatic responses, still operating mostly on autopilot. Her uniform and hair were perfectly neat, as always, but her face was pale and her eyes were bloodshot and slightly sunken, like she hadn’t been sleeping.  
  
Waverly stepped into the room, and was immediately assaulted with the overly aggressive scent of citrus, courtesy of various cleaning supplies that were clearly in use. Haught's sleeves were rolled up into neat and even cuffs, like she had been working with her hands, and the floor was so clean it was shining. Waverly couldn’t help but picture the grieving deputy on her knees for hours, scrubbing it within an inch of its life.  
  
“No, nothing’s wrong. I just... wanted to see how you were,” she admitted. “I haven’t seen you since... you know.”  
  
“Yeah... Uh, sorry I haven’t been in lately. It’s just been crazy here. I’ve been trying to get all his stuff packed up for Chrissy. I don’t want her to have to deal with it, on top of everything...” Haught’s whole face seemed to clench in empathy for Nedley’s daughter. “You’ve seen her, right? How is she?”  
  
The idea that Haught might be worrying about Chrissy hadn’t even occurred to her, and yet it seemed obvious now. The deputy had a protective streak a mile wide, and her boss’s daughter was a natural enough focus for it. Especially after all this...  
  
“She’s...” Waverly had trouble finding the right words. “She’s upset. Obviously. I mean, he was her dad.” She babbled nervously. For just a moment, Haught looked stricken, and she pushed forward, softening her tone. “She’s hurting. And she misses him. And I think she’s really scared.” This last part seemed to make a difference, and she saw Haught’s features harden in resolve.  
  
“Listen, Nedley taught me a lot about being a good cop, and a good sheriff. I’ll do everything I can to keep everyone safe. I promise.” A simple vow, but said with such absolute conviction that Waverly couldn’t doubt her. From the look on her face, she knew that the officer would plant herself firmly between the town and any danger, for as long as it took. She would sooner die than leave.  
  
And there was no surer way to Waverly’s heart than that.  
  
She had always liked Haught, but that was the moment she started to kind of love her.  
  
Just in a friendly, neighborly way, of course.  
  
Waverly took another step closer, until she could lean against the desk. The room wasn't large, but it was big enough for a desk, a filing cabinet, and an old blue sofa. But her attention was captured by an unfamiliar item that seemed almost comically out of place— an old garden gnome, lying on the desktop as though taking a nap there.  
  
“What is...” she started, forcing back a laugh that would have been inappropriate for so serious a situation. “Is that... yours?”  
  
Haught followed her gaze to the gnome and seemed momentarily flummoxed. She started and stopped several sentences before finally blurting out, “Evidence. It’s evidence.”  
  
Waverly tried to imagine a crime where they would have to confiscate a garden gnome as evidence— _Was the gnome drunk driving? Did it rob a bank? Commit adultery?_ — and her mind locked in on an image of someone chasing their neighbor down the street, attempting to beat them to death with the tacky ceramic lawn ornament. Unable to hold her laughter back any longer, she clapped a hand over her mouth, which did almost nothing to smother the sudden stream of giggles.  
  
“Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s not that funny. I’m sure it was a very serious gnome-related crime,” she choked out between laughs. She felt guilty for laughing— especially here in the late sheriff’s office, attempting to give condolences to his grieving coworker and friend. She worried that Haught would be mad at her, or offended— she would have every right to be both— but instead, her face softened into a weak but genuine smile in return.  
  
“No, it’s alright. It _is_ pretty funny. Don’t feel bad. Please.” The deputy’s expression grew warmer and fonder, more like her usual self. “Besides, it’s kind of nice. Seeing you smile.” She said it the way she always said compliments— simply, honestly, and without a hint of embarrassment or uncertainty. Waverly had never met anyone that talked that way before. Like it was that easy to just say what you meant. Never crossing any lines, but just being purely open and sincere.  
  
Waverly fought to control her voice through the giggles, with mixed success.  
  
“No, really, I came here to give my condolences. I didn't mean to start laughing at anything. Just… sometimes, when I’m super emotional, it just makes everything funny.”  
  
It was an embarrassing flaw, but one that had plagued her for her entire life. Haught smiled at her, even though her eyes were tired and her shoulders were starting to slump.  
  
“There’s nothing wrong with that, Waverly. I mean it. You don’t need to apologize for anything.” She gripped her belt tighter, like she was trying to hold herself upright. “And thanks for coming. It’s nice of you. I haven’t been able to get out much the past few days...”  
  
Waverly’s memory suddenly triggered, jolting her enough to cut off the last of the giggle fit, and she began fumbling in her purse.  
  
“Oh! I brought you a sandwich!” she blurted out, apropos of nothing. Haught blinked at her, clearly thrown.  
  
“What?” she asked, eyes drifting down to the container in Waverly’s hand.  
  
“That’s... I wanted to give you my condolences… and a sandwich.” She nearly face-palmed. She wasn’t saying anything right today. “I thought maybe since you weren’t coming in, you were probably really busy and maybe didn’t have time to eat anything. So I thought I’d bring you some lunch. I mean, it’s not like we don’t know what you like.”  
  
She held out the food, and Haught seemed to reach out and take it more on instinct than actual intent. She stared down at it, then back up at Waverly. Slowly, the confusion in her expression gave way to something softer. Gratitude. Relief. Affection.  
  
“Yeah… you’re right. I’ve been working through lunch for days. It’s been hard to keep track of the time...” She moved as though to sit down at the desk, but stopped herself at the last minute, freezing in place for several seconds. Waverly could imagine why— it was still Nedley’s desk, not hers— and it nearly broke her heart. Looking a little embarrassed, Haught walked out of the room to her regular desk and sat there instead. She unwrapped the sandwich eagerly, and the flash of delight in her eyes as she recognized it as chicken salad made the whole trip feel worthwhile.  
  
Given her job, Waverly was somewhat of an accidental expert on Nicole Haught’s eating habits, and she could state with authority that the deputy was a meticulously neat and careful eater, making heavy use of napkins and utensils to keep her hands and uniform spotlessly clean. But enough skipped meals can change a person, and this Haught attacked the sandwich with an uncharacteristic ferocity. She barely even paused for breath until she was halfway done, at which point she set it down for a quick break.  
  
As she caught her breath, her expression was visibly self-conscious, for what Waverly assumed was probably the first time in her life. Who knew that all it took to shatter Nicole Haught’s unwavering confidence was a few seconds of slightly messy eating?  
  
“Um... it’s… possible I might have been a little hungrier than I’d realized,” she admitted, the tips of her ears turning endearingly red. Waverly smothered a laugh.  
  
“Sorry I didn’t think to bring more. If I’d known, I’d have brought chips or fries or something. And maybe some coffee,” she said, and had to suppress another laugh as Haught perked up at the word “coffee” in an almost Pavlovian response.  
  
“No, God, don’t apologize. Really, you can’t imagine how grateful I am that you came at all, let alone that you brought me something to eat.” Haught sighed wearily, slouching forward a little over her desk, one hand rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m sorry I’ve been AWOL the past few days, but I probably won’t be able to come in for lunch for awhile. I get the feeling things are going to get worse before they get better. I’ll have to start bringing lunch from home or something. Something I can eat while still working.” She sounded legitimately saddened by this fact, and Waverly mirrored her disappointment. They might not be close friends or anything, but she would miss the officer coming in every day. And not just because of the tips.  
  
It wasn’t something she had ever thought about directly, but Officer Haught’s daily visit was often the high point of her day. Not everyone was so friendly. Or polite. Or even-tempered. Or clean. And the few times anyone had gotten rude or aggressive with Waverly in her presence, a hard stare from the heavily-armed deputy proved enough to cool even the hottest of tempers.  
  
She would miss that. There were so few _good_ constants in Purgatory already. She hated the thought of losing one more.  
  
“We could bring it here,” she blurted out without thinking, the words seeming to materialize from nowhere.  
  
Haught, the sandwich halfway raised to her lips, paused, confused.  
  
“We could bring what?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.  
  
“Food. Lunch. We— _I_ — could deliver it. To you. Here.”  
  
Haught looked bewildered by the suggestion, and a tiny frown line formed between her eyebrows.  
  
“Does Shorty’s do that?” she asked. Waverly hesitated.  
  
“No,” she admitted after a beat. “Not officially. But we’ve thought about trying it out, to see if we can sell more food that way. The alcohol sells like hotcakes, but the hotcakes not so much. Not that we sell hotcakes. More like burgers. And sandwiches. Obviously. But you know what I mean.”  
  
“I think I follow, yeah,” Haught said, sounding amused by her rambling.  
  
“Well, we’ve been wanting to test it out. Just on a trial basis. And if we’re going to try it, why not offer it to our best customer first?” She held up her hands as if to say 'obviously,' as if this had all been in the works for ages. Haught looked skeptical, like she was waiting for the catch.  
  
“You’re serious?” She said after a moment, raising her eyebrows.  
  
“Completely serious. If anything, you’d be doing us a favor by being our guinea pig,” Waverly insisted. The officer narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.  
  
“It sounds really inconvenient for you. Are you sure you can do that?”  
  
“I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t mean it,” Waverly urged. “So what do you say? Wanna be our beta tester?”  
  
“You’re sure it won’t be too much trouble for you?” She still sounded a little dubious.  
  
“Of course not. I wouldn’t have offered otherwise.” Waverly could see that Haught was still on the fence, so she added the one thing that was bound to sweeten the pot. “In fact, _I_ myself will be the one doing all the deliveries personally. So I can state with authority that it’ll be totally fine.”  
  
Sure enough, Haught’s head lifted a little in interest at this addition, her eyes lighting up, and Waverly knew her gambit had worked.  
  
“If you’re sure…” Haught dragged out, as though giving her a final chance to back out. She didn't take it. “Then yeah, okay. Hard to turn down an offer like that.”  
  
Waverly had to suppress an excited squeal of victory. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but at least they would get to see each other every day again. Already feeling better than she had in days, she perched on the corner of the desk as Haught finished off the sandwich— slightly more carefully than before, but still more hastily than usual.

As she ate, Waverly kept up a steady stream of small talk, using skills honed by years in customer service, and was gratified to see that by the time she finished eating, her companion seemed considerably more at ease. The agonized look from before had faded away, and her usual soft, fond look was back. She still looked tired, but at least the knife’s edge of the pain seemed to have been dulled.  
  
As she finished, Waverly instinctively glanced at the clock and then the door, wondering how long she had been at the station and whether she was overstaying her welcome. Haught’s eyes followed her gaze attentively, and suddenly there was a flurry of sound and motion as the officer leapt to her feet, nearly upsetting her chair in the process.  
  
“Oh my God, I’m sorry. I wasn’t even thinking,” she apologized quickly, shamefaced, steadying the chair with one hand and checking her pockets with the other.  
  
“Huh?” Waverly tried and failed to follow her train of thought.  
  
“You probably have to get back, and I haven’t even paid you,” Haught elaborated, giving up on her pockets and opening a drawer in her desk. Waverly must have still appeared baffled, because she added, “For the sandwich.”  
  
It finally clicked, and Waverly both felt slightly charmed by her sense of propriety and slightly disappointed that she hadn’t just accepted it as a gift.  
  
“No, hey, it’s okay. You didn’t even ask for it. Really. You don’t owe me anything. I just wanted to bring it.” She held up one hand as though to hold her down.  
  
Haught hesitated, clearly torn.  
  
“I don’t know.” She rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. “I mean, it still cost the bar something to make it.”  
  
Waverly shook her head stubbornly.  
  
“Hey, seriously, it’s nothing.” She ducked her head and forced the officer to meet her gaze. “I just thought… I mean, I kinda figured you could maybe stand to see a friendly face, after… everything.”  
  
At her words, she could see the resistance melt out of Haught’s posture, her shoulders sinking and her expression softening.  
  
“Well… you were right.” She looked grateful, but embarrassed. Like she wished she were strong enough to not need anything or anyone. Like she didn’t like to be seen with human weaknesses. “Thank you, Waverly.”  
  
Waverly felt herself flush at the sincere thanks, warmth and pride curling together in her stomach.  
  
“You’re welcome.” She beamed at the recognition. “And we can run you a tab for the delivery thing. After all, who can we trust, if not…” She stumbled as she almost said ‘a deputy,’ as it suddenly occurred to her that Nedley’s death had likely led to an unwanted change of title. “…well, the sheriff, I guess.”  
  
She saw a rush of moisture in Haught’s eyes and immediately regretted bringing it up. But the tears didn’t fall. And though her shoulders slumped slightly, her back stayed straight.  
  
“Acting sheriff,” she corrected softly. Her voice still wasn’t angry or resentful… just sad.  
  
“Oh. Sorry.” The guilty feeling increased as Haught blinked back the tears and took a deep, stabilizing breath.  
  
“No, it’s okay. It’s just… I still have to get formally elected. It’s not automatic.” Her voice had taken on a tired, factual tone.  
  
“Oh. I didn’t know.” Waverly frowned at the thought of her running against someone else— someone who cared less about the town, someone who wasn’t as good at heart, someone who was less honorable. “You’d probably run unopposed, though, right?” As soon as she said it, her forehead creased worriedly as an even more disturbing thought occurred to her. “You will run, won’t you? You won’t just leave?” She hated how much her voice revealed, how scared she sounded at the prospect. Haught drew herself up to her full height, her expression serious and reassuring.  
  
“Of course I’m staying. Purgatory’s my home. I would never abandon it.” Her eyes bore into Waverly’s, and she felt her fear melt away to nothing.  
  
“Good,” she breathed, touching a hand to her heart in relief. “I’d really hate to lose anyone else. Especially you.”  
  
“Yeah?” Haught’s whole face turned hopeful— soft, bright eyes and gently arched eyebrows and the very slightest upturn to her lips.  
  
“Yeah. Of course. I mean, I… The town needs you.” It was true, and yet... it wasn't the first sentence her brain had provided. _I need you._  
  
“Then I’ll be here. For the town. For as long as it wants me.” Haught’s gaze was intense, and it made the air in the room seem heavy and charged, like the feeling just before a thunderstorm.

 _As long as you want me, I will be by your side._ The words echoed in her head, in Haught’s voice, but different. Somehow softer. Somehow sweeter.

Waverly took in a deep breath, trying to stabilize her suddenly roiling thoughts and emotions. She slid off the desk and took a step back, hoping the distance would give her some breathing room.  
  
“Well, then I guess you’re stuck with us,” she managed finally, in a voice more serious than intended. She ducked her head shyly and took another small step back. Haught followed her with her eyes, standing as still and resolute as a statue. “But, uh… I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”  
  
Haught nodded once, her features lifting in the suggestion of a smile.  
  
“Right. Tomorrow.”


End file.
